


slow like honey, heavy with mood

by twoheadedcalf



Series: widofjord week 2020. [5]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fingering, M/M, Oral Sex, Sleepy Sex, Trans Male Character, they are both trans!, tm9 only in the bg!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25111699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoheadedcalf/pseuds/twoheadedcalf
Summary: Fjord knocks on Caleb’s door.It opens and Caleb stands there, down to his tunic, a few buttons open, in his trousers, and his eggshell white socks, still ripped at the heel despite his best efforts at mending it. His hair is up in a bun at the top of his head, a few shorter strands brushing his cheeks. His eyes are half-lidded, like they were just waiting for his arrival to finally close. He looks soft.“Hallo.”“Hey, Cay.” Fjord says, wrapping his arms around his waist and picking him up for just a second. Caleb’s soft noise in response gets lost in the crook of his neck.*day six of widofjord week: downtime.
Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast
Series: widofjord week 2020. [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811557
Comments: 4
Kudos: 128





	slow like honey, heavy with mood

**Author's Note:**

> for the 'downtime' prompt of widofjord week 2020!! check them out @widofjordweek on twitter!! hope u guys like it!!
> 
> warnings: i am nonbinary but not transmac!! i use the word 'clit' a few times in writing so beware if any of that might make you uncomfortable while reading. critiques are welcomed and appreciated.

It’d been a rough couple of weeks: traveling all over the continent, no time to stop in between trips, not even for a day, and the rough encounters had left some members of The Mighty Nein hanging to life by a thread. But no had died this time. That’s what mattered in the end. That they were all still together.

Getting some time to rest at the Xhorhaus is a blessing that makes his shoulders slump and his ears droop, finally relaxing, not even bothering to summon his sword and wave it around to make sure they aren’t being watched. Fjord just moves to his still dark room — he really does need to get rid of the goddamn shutters —, drops his pack in one corner and pretty much hauls his cloak and armor off.

He lays down on his bed — nice and big, one of the only good things in his room — and waits. 

The first door to close is Yasha’s, as it has been lately. Fjord doesn’t know why she always makes sure to check in on her room as soon as they arrive, doesn’t know what she could be hiding there and honestly, he’d rather not ask. Maybe it’s just the comfort. 

Next, it’s Veth’s. Fjord breathes out a sigh of relief and feels weird for not feeling guilty about it; things have been tense with her still here but it doesn’t feel like his right to point it out. It makes his shoulders draw up — the way Caleb’s eyes tighten when she says some things, like he doesn’t recognize her anymore; or the way Beau’s mouth twists when Veth _‘critics’_ her; or the way Jester goes miserably silent when Veth says something dismissive to her. It feels like a ticking time bomb but he’d rather not acknowledge it.

It takes a little while longer for Jester and Beau to retire. He can hear them bustling around the second floor, mostly Jester’s bubbly speech and some of Beau’s wisecracking thrown in, their voices fading and then rising again after a few minutes, before the door slams loudly.

He hears quiet shuffling — Caduceus in the kitchen? — followed by heavy steps and the clink of delicate, pretty china. Then, the door to Caduceus’ room quietly closes.

He waits a minute, two, three, for the catch, for the other shoe to drop, but the house stays comfortably quiet. 

So Fjord gets up and goes down to Caleb’s room.

This is— new. And it isn’t, at the same time. It feels like a storm that has been brewing on the horizon ever since they first met, ever since Caleb helped rescue them from the Iron Shepherds, ever since he raised that _Wall of Fire_ between them and Avantika, ever since they shook bloody hands and held on like they didn’t want to let go. Caleb got close and refused to pull back more than an inch, more than what Fjord absolutely needed; it’d been scary at first but now it’s just— _warm_.

Caleb’s room is just as much of a sorry sight as his own — small and dark, lacking any windows and with books strewn everywhere — but it’s more reserved, placed on a whole different floor from everyone else’s and behind two close doors. It is _private_. Just for them.

Fjord knocks on Caleb’s door.

It opens and Caleb stands there, down to his tunic, a few buttons open, in his trousers, and his eggshell white socks, still ripped at the heel despite his best efforts at mending it. His hair is up in a bun at the top of his head, a few shorter strands brushing his cheeks. His eyes are half-lidded, like they were just waiting for his arrival to finally close. He looks _soft_.

“ _Hallo_.”

“Hey, Cay.” Fjord says, wrapping his arms around his waist and picking him up for just a second. Caleb’s soft noise in response gets lost in the crook of his neck.

There just hasn’t been any _time_. There hasn’t been any time in the last few weeks to find a dark corner in the middle of their trips and just _be close_. No one else knows about them, Fjord is pretty sure no one even _suspects_ , and they don’t want to share, not right now. He even feels a little greedy sometimes, and he’s _glad_ to be, even if shame needles at him. He’s glad he can have Caleb’s time.

Fjord drops Caleb down but keeps close as they walk inside the room.

Caleb lays down on the bed — rumpled, unmade, he’d probably been reading a book, now flopped onto the ground, while waiting for him — and smiles before turning his back to him. They’ve done this enough times, not so many that he can’t count them, but enough times that he doesn’t hesitate to lay down and shuffle close, spooning Caleb’s back.

It makes his head spin, how well they fit together, all of Caleb’s sharp edges fitting into his own soft corners. Not perfect, but comfortable, like this was how it was supposed to be the whole time. They curl up like two tight commas, his arm thrown over Caleb’s waist. The bun keeps Caleb’s long hair away from his mouth, unlike last time; like he’d observed and changed accordingly. Like he’s learning Fjord just as Fjord is learning him.

Caleb’s shoulders lose tension and Fjord melts. He closes his eyes. It feels like a waste of time, every now and then, coming here just to sleep but it’s still something he’s never had before.

He dozes off before even noticing it. It’s just — he feels safe. And warm. Caleb is always so _warm_. His very own personal furnace. _His_. His toes curl just thinking about it. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he opens his eyes again. There’s no way to tell, not in Rosohna — though Fjord sometimes gets close by checking what kinds of people are outside —, not in a room with no windows. It makes his heart ache sometimes, the things Caleb does and puts up with because he doesn’t like himself.

His head is fuzzy and his vision is a little blurry. It takes him a moment to realize what might have woken him.

Caleb’s legs are rubbing against each other, pressed tight together. His back arches, pressing his ass back against Fjord’s hips. Fjord watches for a minute, still a little drowsy, before starting to pet Caleb’s side, rumbling. Caleb makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“You know that doesn’t do anything, Cay.”

“Not _directly_.”

Caleb is right. This doesn’t do anything for him, except get him hot under the collar, seeing Caleb press back against him, offer himself up like that. “You really want to? Right now?”

Caleb’s head moves in a nod. “ _Ja_.”

Fjord rumbles in consideration. Caleb presses himself against him again, more forceful. 

Fjord’s hands move, the one on his waist moving to pet his stomach, fuzzy and with a little softness to it now, after so long eating regularly, and the other moves up to his chest, stopping over his heart, thumb brushing over his nipple, already perked up. Caleb is so easy sometimes.

He gasps quietly, head thrown back, ruffling his own hair.

Fjord says, “Like this?” Caleb hums, a little muffled as Fjord continues to thumb his nipple, but his hips still buck. Fjord huffs a chuckle. “Ask for what you want.”

Caleb grunts. “Please…”

Not what Fjord meant but it still sends shivers down Fjord’s spine so his hand moves down anyway, cupping him through his breeches — nothing more than heavy petting, that makes him jerk and squirm in Fjord grasp, rocking his hips back. Caleb’s hand moves and his bony, spindly fingers wrap around his wrist. 

Fjord smirks. “You are so worked up already,” The heat in his own belly is a lazy thing, simmering just under the surface, a pleasant thing slowly spreading over his body, a warm pool he can submerge himself in. “What happened to your composure, sweetheart?”

Caleb twitches and makes a noise like he wants to scoff. “It’s been _weeks_.” Then, quieter, “And I just… I want you.”

Butterflies swoop in Fjord’s stomach and he feels something slow and syrupy like honey fill him. He pauses and his hand moves to Caleb’s hip despite his little dismayed noise, fingers worrying over his hip bones. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Caleb. Don’t you want to calm down some and let me take care of you?” 

Caleb takes a breath, two, still tense, wound up and twitching before going all pliant in a way that makes Fjord’s chest rumble with pride and his heart beat with affection for this lovely man. Caleb presses back against his chest, relaxed, not demanding, and lets sleepiness suffuse through them both again.

He hums, quiet, and pets Caleb’s hip. “That’s it, Cay.” His hand sneaks under Caleb’s tunic again, fingers running through his body hair, before dipping inside his trousers, inside his small clothes (he never used to wear them before Xhorhas — there was no way to avoid getting a peak while traveling — but he kind of had to with such tight pants). 

His hand goes down, down, down, through the thatch of red hair, pointer and ring finger spreading him apart, middle finger quickly finding him already hard and swollen, sensitive enough to make Caleb sigh when Fjord rubs, a little soft moan that ends in Fjord’s name.

Something twists in his chest and Fjord tightens his grip on him. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Caleb sighs again. “I just want you… All the time… You make me feel so good…” Caleb sounds airy, like just this makes him feel so relaxed that he’s about to fall asleep again.

“I do?”

Caleb _mhms_ , the sound coming from the back of his throat. 

Fjord starts moving his fingers with purpose now, tight little circles and just enough pressure to get Caleb worked up without hurting, without being too much, intense but not mean. He’s rarely rough with Caleb despite how much he tries to taunt him into it, always teasing and smirking and pushing. But it’s nice, the push and pull.

Caleb starts making light, breathy noises, and Fjord can’t help start nibbling on his neck to get more of them, nipping at his flesh, his tusks rubbing over the skin enough times that it goes pink, biting down softly and soothing the hurt with his tongue, sucking small love bites around it.

His hips keep canting back, trying to follow the movement of Fjord hand, and soft swear words keep spilling out of his mouth but he doesn’t demand more. The lazy pleasure of the moment spreads a brown blush over Fjord’s cheeks and makes his ears flick.

His hand moves further down, to trace and press around Caleb’s entrance. He hums. “You’re wet.”

Caleb half-scoffs. “What part of ‘It’s been weeks’ and ‘I want you’ do you not understand, you impossible man?”

Fjord nips hard, just to hear Caleb gasp and feel him shiver against him. “You aren’t normally like this, it’s all.”

“You should take advantage of it.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“ _Ja_.” He cants his hips down again. “Please.”

Fjord presses a very light kiss to the part of Caleb’s neck he’d been gnawing on — goosebumps still rise on his skin anyway — and tries to press a finger inside him. Caleb opens up to him, slow but welcoming, his wetness and his warmth (always so warm, almost like a fire) so incredibly inviting that Fjord doesn’t stop until he’s up to the last knuckle.

Caleb’s head presses down against the pillow beneath them and his wet gasps get a little muffled in the fabric. Fjord pinches Caleb’s nipple just to feel him clench around him. He has a lot of easy tells for someone so reserved.

His finger moves slowly, drawing back despite how tight Caleb is — _like he wants to keep me inside_ , Fjord thinks, just a little, or maybe a lot overwhelmed —, and pushing in to the sound of Caleb’s choky moan. It only takes a few moments for him to relax. 

And then he’s lost to the easy rhythm of it. Caleb’s breathing, a little too quick; Caleb’s chest rising up and down under the palm of his hand; Caleb’s frantic heartbeat; the goosebumps on Caleb’s skin; the scent of his arousal, filling Fjord’s senses, spreading over the room and mixing with his own. He could drown in it.

Fjord curls his finger a little and Caleb twitches with a slightly louder _fuck!_ , his feet kicking a little. “More?” Fjord murmurs against the marks on his neck and Caleb nods.

He presses another finger inside him, an easier slide this time from how wet Caleb is getting — so quick, proof of how hard and for how long he’s been wanting Fjord’s touch — even as he gurgles as if it’s a much bigger stretch. Fjord buries his nose in his neck again, helpless, and curls his fingers.

Caleb lets out a _yes_ and grips the sheets tighter in his fist, his leg lifting up a little to allow more space for Fjord’s hand. Fjord has to close his eyes, because it’s just too much, too good — the image leaves his skin prickling and even in the dark, he can’t keep away the image of Caleb spreading his legs for him. His hips twitch. Things get a lot faster after that.

He keeps hooking his fingers up, pressing against Caleb’s sweet spot, and his body keeps almost jolting with it. It doesn’t feel fast or frantic, the same laziness and haziness from before hovering over them — it’s more like something is coiling, tighter and tighter, about to burst.

He bends his thumb in, clumsy, nudging Caleb’s clit as his fingers thrust inside him, and Caleb, lovely, adorable Caleb, kicks his feet and squeezes like a vice around him, whining a little, murmuring a Zemnian word Fjord isn’t sure means _more_ or _please_. 

The hand that’s not busy moves up Caleb’s torso, lightly brushing against his nipples. Caleb’s hips buck and he throws his head back, slamming against Fjord’s shoulder. His hand keeps moving up though, and only stops at Caleb’s neck, doing nothing more than rest there, almost caressing it, but the man twitches hard at the mere suggestion of it.

Fjord keeps moving his fingers, almost jacking Caleb off with the help of his thumb, half pinching, and the words spill out, unbidden, barely making out of his mouth through the purr building in his chest, welling up in his throat. “ _Caleb_ … You sound so good, you’re so good… So tight, so wet, so warm… Just for me… Wish I could you feel you… Wish I could pin your wrists down and fu—”

Caleb’s body locks up, tense like a bow string, and he trembles, goosebumps rippling over his skin, small ' _ahn’_ noises, legs pressed together again, trapping Fjord’s hand between them, hips jerking back and forth. He pulses around Fjord’s fingers, and his flesh is hot, almost scorching, throbbing against Fjord’s own. Fjord can only hold on.

He squirms in Fjord’s grasp for several moments, whimpering, before gasping and going completely limp. He pants, still fluttering around Fjord’s fingers.

Fjord blinks, stunned, before his lips curl in a smug smile. “You want it that bad, huh?” Caleb clenches around him suddenly, letting out a whine before settling. The smile doesn’t leave Fjord’s face. “You _do_.”

“Oh, hush.”

There’s a quiet lull before Caleb squirms again and turns in his arms, pressing his face to his neck, the slope of his nose digging in just a little too sharp but still comfortably familiar. He takes deeps breaths, like he’s inhaling Fjord’s scent to ground himself, but Fjord knows humans noses can’t pick up that much.

They remain still for a full moment, for long enough that Caleb’s skin stops feeling feverish and more like he’s just been sunbathing all day. He misses it, how good Caleb looked tanned, rosy brown under the sun. He couldn’t quite appreciate it back then.

And then Caleb starts nibbling on his neck, all light and shy, like if he’s sneaky enough Fjord may not notice it. He stays silent long enough that Caleb starts sucking love bites, big and dark, the kind that lasts for days, the kind Fjord always presses his thumb to, in private, and shivers, and he shudders now when Caleb scrapes his teeth over the sensitive skin.

“You’re so easy,” Caleb murmurs against his skin.

“Says _you_.”

“I was easy _today_.”

Any possible retort dies in Fjord’s throat when Caleb settles a heavy, possessive hand on his hip. The hand smooths down his side and pinches his love handles, not hard enough to be mean, just a little tease, traveling to the small of his back, down to his ass and squeezing. Fjord jolts forward, hand curling on Caleb’s tunic, clutching.

He can feel the edges of Caleb’s smile against his neck.

“Would you like me,” Caleb starts and Fjord holds his breath. “To eat you out?”

Fjord lets the breath out. “Yes. Yes, Cay, please.”

Caleb hums and doesn’t respond, pressing a kiss to Fjord’s jaw and then licking into his mouth, self-assured like that’s his right, tongues sliding against each other lazily, loud, smacking noises echoing around the room. The way he tongues the root of Fjord’s tusk when pulling back makes him chuff. Fjord stares at Caleb’s smug expression, dazed.

He pushes and Fjord goes, laying down on his back now instead of his side. Caleb kneels up and shuffles between his legs. His fingertips, warm little pads, trace across his waistband, and he glances up, searching for permission. Fjord gives a single nod, chewing on his bottom lip.

Caleb pulls his pants and his small clothes down slowly, like he’s unwrapping a present, rumpled fabric getting stuck around his thick thighs for a second. Just his gaze makes Fjord blush and raises goosebumps on his skin. Then he throws them aside carelessly and settles on his stomach between Fjord’s legs.

For a moment, he just breathes on him. Fjord’s vision swims — he’s so wound up and hadn’t even realized it until now — before focusing back on Caleb’s mouth so close to him. Arms wrap around his thighs, pulling him down — _fuck, that’s hot_ — and his thumbs spread him apart.

“You’re wet.” He says, warm air washing over him.

Fjord twitches. Caleb probably sees him clench. Asshole. “Oh, fuck off.”

Caleb doesn’t respond, just licks over him, broad and heavy, from his entrance, already leaking, to his clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue before doing it again. Fjord says _‘fuck off’_ again but it comes out a lot whinier and Caleb doesn’t even respond. 

He laps at him, buries himself between Fjord’s legs and eats him out like he’s been starving for it, like it’s the only things he’s been thinking about for days. It isn’t normally like this — Caleb likes to tease him, wind him up until he begs, until he’s right by the edge and can’t help hurtling down. This time, instead, he digs in, tasting Fjord, fucking him with his tongue, before focusing on his clit, licking over it, insistent, sure, so heavy that it almost hurts.

The heavy stone of arousal in Fjord’s belly burns and then Caleb’s lips close around his swollen flesh and _suck_ and he cries out, hips canting down towards his mouth, hand on the back of his head, clinging to his hair. Caleb hums when he pulls at the strands and Fjord _feels_ it; he’s helpless to hold back the gasp that follows. He can feel his body heating up, his belly already quivering.

Caleb’s arm moves and before he realizes it, there’s a warm finger pressing around his entrance, sinking inside as Fjord moans, squeezing around it. Caleb thrusts in once, twice, three times, before hooking his finger up with deadly accuracy and hitting his sweet spot on the first try. Fjord arches his back and his feet slide on Caleb’s shoulder blades.

Caleb doesn't give any reprieve: he keeps pressing down on his sweet spot, not even drawing his fingers back anymore, just pulsing against his entrance, wet noises echoing around the room, sucking him off. And then he licks up the underside too, again and again and again, and Fjord whimpers before his body suddenly locks up. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ …Cay, sweetheart—!” 

His thighs close in around Caleb’s head, flexing, and his hips jerk as he grinds down towards Caleb’s mouth, almost bucking him off. Caleb clings to him and doesn’t stop moving his tongue, doesn’t stop his fingers, working even harder than before, almost jostling Fjord with the motion. He squeezes around Caleb's finger, leaking enough to leave the bed beneath them wet; it feels like everything is throbbing, delicious and maddening at the same time. He whines, body curling over Caleb as he cums, skin prickling, ears flicking wildly, pleasure washing over him.

It takes him a moment to relax but he does. He rests down on the bed again and opens his legs a little, looking down blearily, hair glued to his forehead, at Caleb.

But Caleb doesn’t stop, doesn’t even look up at him. He pulls his finger out, puts hands on the back of Fjord’s knees and spreads his legs apart, obscenely.

Fjord’s breathing picks up again. “Caleb, Caleb, Cay, wh—”

Caleb laps at his clit — hypersensitive, overstimulated, flushed a deeper green, swollen — and doesn’t stop. Fjord gasps out a sharp _‘fuck!’_ , head dropping back, and his legs twitch but Caleb’s grip holds firm and they don’t budge any closer.

His second orgasm comes at the heels of the first one to Caleb’s insistent tongue flicks and light sucking and Fjord shakes through it, half silent, only letting out short, choked back _‘ah_ —’ noises, hands fisted in the sheets for something to hold on to. He shudders one last time and goes soft all over.

Caleb’s elbows lock at the added weight and he keeps licking Fjord up carefully, only at his entrance now, like he can’t quite get enough. Fjord pants through it until Caleb stops and hovers over him, smiling, the lower part of his face all wet, lips pink. Fjord stares up at him, everything fuzzy around the edges. He’s never felt so comfortable.

“You like it that bad, huh?” He whispers, voice raspy, for something to say.

“You taste good.” Caleb says, flopping down next to him.

“Wanna take another nap?”

“Hm…. _Ja, schatz_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find @bicalebwidogast on twitter!! feedback is appreciated!!


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